When all men had cleared the area, Pompano turned to Cervante and called, “I am ready.”
Cervante nodded.
Pompano and Barguyo joined the men, away from the house. Pompano boosted himself into the operator’s seat and waved Barguyo up to join him, so that the young man could learn how to operate the weapon. He could barely hear the music coming from the radio. The three-meter-diameter dish was pointed directly at the electrical equipment, a hundred meters away.
Pompano switched on the HPM’s generator. He watched the dials as the weapon’s capacitors charged full of energy. After a half minute he turned to Barguyo. “It is very simple. After starting the generator, make sure the antenna is aimed at the target. Then push this button.”
Barguyo flipped open the cover and jabbed at the button. Pop! Pompano jerked his head up and squinted at the plantation house. Smoke curled up from the TV and radios.
Pompano glanced at Cervante. The Huk leader nodded quietly to himself.
The sixteen men and women gathered around the small Negrito. Dressed in only a loincloth, Abuj looked like he was the only comfortable person in the jungle.
The thick foliage formed a canopy around them. If Bruce hadn’t known that they were just outside the fence of Clark, he would have thought they were a thousand miles from civilization. He couldn’t see more than ten feet through the surrounding jungle.
The ground was covered with a bouncy mat of mulch. To their right a path led from the clearing. The open area was at least twenty yards across, and from the worn spots on the ground it looked as though the place had been used many times before.
A small calf bellowed at them, its tether short enough that it could not reach any of the plants to munch on. Abuj stood by the calf, which came up to his shoulder. It reminded Bruce of the “Little Britches,” rodeo when the kids would try to bulldog a calf.
Abuj spoke quietly, and the others listened intently.
“In jungle, you eat anything. It simple choice: You die or something else die. I already show you how to eat bugs and snakes. Now, you learn big.”
He grasped the calf’s chin and held it up high, so that the throat was exposed. “Like your enemy, you must strike fast, hard. You do this for the animal, as yourself.”
He nodded at Catman, who was standing just behind Bruce. “Here. You hold.”
Catman wiped his hands on his flight suit and moved forward. The half circle of men and women widened to allow him to pass. The Negrito held the calf’s neck up. Catman moved in behind the man and took the calf’s chin in his hand. The animal tried to get away, and Catman had to struggle to keep it still. His face grew as red as the shock of hair on top of his head. A drool of saliva dribbled down his hand.
Abuj removed a machete from his belt. The blade looked coarse, not like the shiny, mass-produced instrument Bruce had seen displayed in stores. Abuj ran the edge along his finger. He spoke to the men.
“You must respect the animal. To kill it and not respect it is very, very bad.” He shivered slightly. “The animal will thank you for making its death come quickly. It will help you, nourish you.” He turned and looked upon the men. They had all participated in similar training either at Fairchild AFB or at the Air Force Academy during their survival course, but it had always been in groups of up to a hundred, and sometimes as many as four hundred. This was much more personal, something they couldn’t watch from afar.
Abuj nodded to Charlie. He held out the blade. “I feel … you can know the animal.”
Charlie barely hesitated. He avoided looking at anyone and stepped up to take the blade. He turned it over and ran his finger lightly along the edge. He flipped the machete back over, satisfied he had found the sharpest edge.
The calf snorted; Catman tightened his grip. “Come on, Foggy — I don’t have all day.”
Charlie stepped up to the opposite side of the calf and brought the blade near.
“Quick,” whispered Abuj.
Charlie set his mouth. In a sudden swipe he sliced the calf s throat and brought the machete up high, nearly severing the head.
The calf bucked, straining against the tether, and Catman yelped, “Crap!” The calf ceased moving.
Catman and Charlie laid the animal down. Blood spurted from the wound, covering the ground in a bright red liquid. Abuj moved close. He placed his ear on the calf’s body, listened for a moment, then moved over to the spot where the blood still flowed. He put his mouth to the wound and drank.
Bruce watched, his eyes open wide. Abuj stood and spoke, blood dripping in a tiny rivulet from his mouth. “What was once the animal is now yours. Nourishment is full of vitamin, protein. Drink … but respect.” He turned and walked to the side. He sat cross-legged and watched the men.
No one spoke. Bruce breathed through his nose, unsure of what was happening.
A sudden movement.
Charlie knelt by the dead calf and placed a hand where the blood came from the animal. The flow had slowed to a fast ooze. He scooped up a handful of blood, brought it to his lips … and drank.
Once finished, he sat beside the Negrito. Panther stepped up and drank next, then took her spot sitting next to Charlie. Revlon followed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Catman snickered and moved back to where Bruce stood. He spoke in a stage whisper. “Hey, man — this is too weird. Reminds me of The Night of the Living Dead. Next thing you know we’ll be going after Skipper, cutting him open and drinking his blood.”
Skipper turned and glared.
One of the enlisted men knelt beside the calf and then sat next to Revlon. One by one the men and women lined up; the officers in Maddog slowly joined them until Robin, Catman, and Bruce stood by themselves.
Catman chattered nervously. “What the hell is going on? What do they think this is, some sort of initiation rite?” He started to sound angry.
Robin nudged him. “Come on.”
Bruce looked over at Charlie. His backseater stared straight ahead, ignoring his inquisitive look. Bruce muttered, “I’m going to drink it just to snap those guys out of it.” He strode to the calf and knelt. Bruce put his hand down. The blood still came, but Bruce needed to push against the carcass to cause enough to fill his cupped hand.
He brought the blood quickly to his mouth and pulled some in. It tasted salty and warm, thick. He quickly swallowed before he gagged. Bruce joined the others.
Catman argued with Robin at the opposite end of the clearing. They were the only two who had not partaken in the “ceremony.” And the argument was one-sided — Robin was halfway to the calf while Catman admonished him to return.
“Come on! For crying out loud, what the hell do you think this is — voodoo land? Some superstitious, munchkin mumbling, a bunch of mumbo jumbo. If I ever have to drink it to survive, then I’ll do it. You’re crazy if you think that cow is going to help you. I can see it now — terror of darkness, the Cow From Hell! No matter where you are, it’s going to hunt you down and hose you with its deadly milk.”
Robin knelt and drank.
Catman had backed up to the edge of the clearing. He waved a hand at his backseater. “Well, what the hell. Do you feel better now? Are you going to save us because you are now one with the cow? Give me a break, give me a friggin’ break.”
Robin stood slowly and made his way to where the men sat. His face was expressionless.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. The experience had not been a revelation, but more one of bonding with the men in the course. His mouth still tasted bitter, and certainly no religious experience had occurred. He was sure that the other men felt the same way. Yet there was something about Robin’s face as he approached … When he was ten feet from the men, he suddenly stopped.